


Endless Wonder

by Dendritic_Trees



Category: Supernatural, Warehouse 13
Genre: Bisexual Dean, Bisexuality, Canon Bisexual Character, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Family, Fluff, Hugging, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, new relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dendritic_Trees/pseuds/Dendritic_Trees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley's demons have got a hold of dangerous artifacts, the Winchesters and the Warehouse 13 Agents are working the same case and Dean runs into an old acquaintance at an awkward time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Collision Course

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first post to this archive. Issues may occur, all the tags may be wrong.

There are (probably) many ways to safely diffuse a standoff between the Secret Service, the ATF and two armed and dangerous fugitives. Very few people would choose Claudia’s; running in between them, arms flailing, shouting “No, stop, nope, no need for guns today!” This was a slightly less insane plan than it might have seemed, since she had a reasonable idea that neither group was likely to shoot her. She was correct. Steve, Pete, Myka, Dean, and the exceptionally tall man standing next to Dean all averted their firearms.

  
“Hang on, wait, Claudia?” Dean spluttered.  
Claudia grinned, somewhat fixedly, and waved a bit, “Hi-” she started to say. It trailed off into a yelp as Steve grabbed her waist and yanked her towards him. “Claudia, what are you doing, get away from them, they’re dangerous!”  
“Steve, what are you doing, let me go, I know him, it’s just Dean.” Claudia yelped.  
Steve did let go, more from surprise than Claudia’s keen persuasive skill. “Claudia, they’re serial killers!”  
“Oh for the last time!” Dean yelled, “I did not kill anyone!”  
Steve brought his pistol back up to cover the Winchesters. “Stop.” Sam and Dean froze.  
Claudia took a very deep breath, fixed her smile, and stepped back into the middle of the room. “All of you stop. Stop right now. No shooting, no yelling, no doing things. Steve, can I talk to you for a minute.” Claudia then grabbed Steve’s arm and hauled him into a corner, shooting glares at everyone else to hold them still.  
“Steve what is going on?” She asked.  
“Claud, we got a whole load of bulletins about those two, for murder, firearms, grave desecration, back at the ATF, that’s how I recognized their faces. They are not good guys.” Steve replied.  
“No. Dean is my friend.” Claudia hissed. “I mean, not like a super close friend, and actually I only met him the once, but still.”  
Steve scrunched up his face, in that way he had when he was feeling especially older brotherly. “What are you talking about? He’s your friend you met once. He’s a felon. When was this?” He hissed back. They were slowly failing to whisper.  
Claudia grimaced, and frowned at the floor. “It was back in Minneapolis. I was all by myself, and he helped me out of, kind of a jam. That’s all. He was nice; which was kind of, rare back then.” She mumbled.

There was a similar conversation occurring on the other side of the room.  
“Dean. Who are those people and who is Claudia?” Sam asked.  
“She’s just some kid. I was working this job in Minneapolis, and these jerks were hassling her so I ran them off. Well, she kept going on about her brother. I thought it was a ghost, but I couldn’t find anything to burn…” Dean admitted facing the floor. “And, I dunno, she was all by herself, and you were at college, so I kept an eye on her for a few days, until I left, is all. I haven’t heard from her since.” Dean said and Sam heard I was lonely.  
Then Claudia gestured vaguely in their direction from where she was standing on the other side of the room, marched over and waved awkwardly. “So, um, hi, how’ve you been? What brings you to Wisconsin?”  
“Hi Claudia, you… you look good. It’s good to see you, really. But look, there’s some stuff happening here that we really need to take care of. I can’t really go into it but people are going to get hurt, so I really need you to let us go. Please.” Dean asked.  
Claudia grinned, a bit more naturally this time. “Never fear, ‘stuff’ is our specialty. Let me guess; this is about all the stabbings?”  
Dean, who had never mentioned anything supernatural to Claudia, stared at her. Sam, who assumed that she couldn’t have heard it anywhere else, glared at Dean. But they both nodded.  
“Don’t worry, we’ve got this one.” Claudia said, “I’ll just reassure my friends here that you’re not a pair of serial killers and you can be on your way. Hey Jinxie!”  
Steve walked over and fixed Dean with the most penetrating stare he could manage, and he had plenty of practice. Dean stared back.  
“Oh, you need to tell Steve you’re not a murderer.” Claudia interjected.  
“Right,” Dean muttered, “because that worked so well all the other times. Fine. I did not kill anyone.”  
Steve immediately relaxed. “Good to know. So what are you doing here?” He asked. Claudia glared at him.  
“Oh, well, we were just driving by –“ Dean started to improv, since he couldn’t very well claim to be FBI any more.  
But Steve cut him off. “You’re lying” he said shortly.  
Dean tried again. “Well our cousin –“  
“Still lying.” Steve cut in.  
“We heard –“  
“No! Stop lying!” Steve snapped. Three in a row was getting close to his limit. It didn’t help that Claudia was grinning at Dean, obviously looking for a reaction to Steve’s special skill.

Sam looked at Dean and Steve staring each other down over Claudia’s head. Dean had shifted his weight towards her, just enough to be able to spring in front of her as needed. He had used to stand like that talking to people Sam met at school. It had ended in a fight from time to time, so Sam stepped in. “We think a demon is possessing people in this town, that’s why there have been all these stabbings. I know it sounds hard to believe.”  
“Oh I believe you.” Steve deadpanned. He turned to the rest of his team and sighed. “He’s telling the truth. Unfortunately.”  
“Demons,” Pete moaned. “Seriously? There’s demons now?”  
“I don’t think there is.” Said Myka. “I think its just an artifact and they’re just nuts. I mean, Steve, you wouldn’t be able to see that, right?”  
Steve shook his head. Dean would probably have replied, but there was a crash and a loud thump from the floor above them. Sam and Pete both started ushering the other party out of the room. Everyone vigorously resisted being ushered.  
“You know what,” said Myka, “we don’t have time for this. Just put these on,” she tossed pairs of purple neutralizer gloves to Sam and Dean “don’t shoot anyone, don’t get in our way and don’t die. Got it?”  
There might have been another fight about Myka’s instructions; Dean looked about as pleased to be told to stay out of the way as Steve did that Dean and Sam hadn’t left yet. But more crashing started from upstairs and they all ran up after it.

There were three women in the room at the top of the stairs; two civilians, one brandishing an old kitchen knife and one cowering behind HG Wells, who was attempting to grab the knife. The Warehouse Team’s arrival was just the break she needed. Myka yelled “HG!”, the woman with the knife spun round to look at them and HG took the opportunity to grab her arm and smack it against a nearby dresser, forcing her to drop the knife. Myka dove forward underneath the, and slid the knife into a grab bag.  
Everyone from the Warehouse knew to avert their eyes without having to be told, Sam and Dean were left blinking sparks out of their eyes while Myka picked herself up, handed the bagged knife to Pete and reached over to help the woman in the corner to her feet. “Don’t worry, its all over now.” she said with a smile.

If Sam and Dean hadn’t been dazzled by artifact sparks they might have noticed the woman’s shift in demeanor before she went all the way from cowering to smirking. “I do believe it is. Congratulations, you got the whole knife block.”  
Myka took a step back and lost her smile. “What?”  
The woman turned to Sam and Dean and smiled. “Crowley says hi, by the way.” Her eyes flashed black, and she sliced a much more ordinary knife through Myka’s stomach.  
“MYKA!” Pete screamed, and ran to catch her as she doubled up.  
Sam grabbed Ruby’s knife and lunged after the demon, but she pitched forward with a gush of angelic white light before he could get there.

Castiel stepped over the demon’s body while everyone was still shielding their eyes and gently pried Pete off of Myka so he had space to press his fingers against his forehead and heal her. _He’d moved Bobby around that way when they’d met,_ Dean thought, _being gentle, but only because it didn’t stop him from overpowering you._ Then he shook his head. Weird time for a trip down memory lane, maybe it was just Claudia showing up after all this time.  
Myka sat up and gasped as Cas worked his usual mojo and then stepped back to observe the scene with that oddly intense lack of an expression he got from time to time.  
“Myka, Mikes?” Pete gasped. He was flailing over her, alternately stroking her hair and hugging her and checking her now unmarked stomach.  
“I’m ok.” Myka gasped a bit. “I’m okay, Pete.”

HG looked from Pete and Myka, to the demon on the floor, to Castiel, back to Myka. She walked over to Cas, put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth. For a very prolonged kiss from a beautiful woman it was oddly unerotic. Although it might have only appeared that way to Sam, who was standing at the right angle to see that she was crying. HG eventually let go of Cas and traded places with Pete. Pete did not kiss Castiel. He did hug him though, which had the effect of smearing Myka’s blood across the shoulders of Cas’s trenchcoat. Cas started to move towards Sam and Dean, but was intercepted by Claudia, who more or less threw herself at him and burst into tears. It was fairly comical, actually, watching Cas stuck standing in the middle of the room while a bunch of strangers sobbed all over him. Sam knew that Cas sometimes healed civilians, but he got the sense that he also typically flew away before they could react.

  
Myka was fending off HG and Pete who were both fussing over her, Claudia was sobbing on Castiel’s shoulder and Steve and Dean were both trying to deal with the body of the dead demon without talking to or making eye contact with each other, so they were mostly just in each other’s way. The woman who had originally been waving the knife was now huddled in the corner looking utterly terrified, so Sam, who was, apparently, the last sane person in the building, walked over to comfort her. “Its going to be alright, you’re safe now.” He muttered to her. “Nothing happened and we’re going to sort this out.” She burst into tears as well, and Sam was left holding a crying stranger. Because that was how the day was going.

“Oh will you get off of me!” Myka finally barked, getting to her feet. “Alright. That is enough. You and you,” she gestured to Sam and Dean, and then to one wall, “I still don’t know who you are, go stand over there. Steve, please cover them, Pete please grab the knife.” She walked over and knelt down next down to the woman she’d just chased Sam away from. “It’s going to be alright ma’am, I’m with the Secret Service and I just need you to come with me now.” She led the woman over to HG, “Here, this is Helena, and she’s going to look after you, and we’re going to call you an ambulance.” HG stepped up as requested to escort the woman out. Lastly, Myka walked over and rested her hand on Claudia’s shoulder. “Hey Claud, come on, everything’s fine.” Claudia looked up, sniffed, then realized abruptly that she was sobbing on a stranger’s shoulder and let go. Myka gave Cas a somewhat more restrained hug of her own. “I think you saved my life, so, thank you, for that. But you’re going to have to come with us too.” She grabbed a handful of the back of Cas’s coat, preventing him, although she didn’t know it, from flying off without dragging her with him. She dragged him towards the door, with a brisk “Come along.” To everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of feelings when I watched the Warehouse 13 Season 4 finale, so I really needed some fluff. The unofficial subtitle for this story is therefore: The characters from Supernatural and Warehouse 13 solve each other's problems and everything is nice.


	2. Untrue Tales Enroute to South Dakota

They headed, en masse, out into the garden to wait for the ambulance to arrive and take away the body of the demon and her other victim and Pete slid the mystery knife out of its silvery bag and into a knife block.  He then plunged the entire block of knives into a can which spat more sparks.

“Hello Dean.  Sam.”  Cas said, as they were standing outside.  Myka still had a handful of his coat.  “This is very unusual.  Do you know these people?”  

“No.” Dean ground out. 

“Well I think we’re all due for some introductions.” HG cut in sunnily.  “I’m Helena, this is Myka, Pete and Claudia and Steve.” She gestured to everyone in turn.  And you are?”

Dean glowered at HG.  Sam gave her an exceedingly fixed smile.  “I’m Sam, this is Dean, and this,” he pointed, “is Castiel.”

“Castiel?  Well that _is_ an interesting name.”

“I am an Angel of the Lord.” Cas informed her.

Everyone immediately looked at Steve.   Steve nodded and buried his face in his hands.  Myka shrieked in despair.  “What do you mean you’re an Angel of the Lord?  Angels?  Demons?  What is going on?  This is nuts.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re the one’s chasing cursed knives around.” Dean more or less yelled back.

“They’re not cursed.  They’re artifacts.  Its energy and, um, Einstein and…” Myka trailed off, stymied by the fact that, she didn’t actually know how artifacts worked, even though she was very positive, that there weren’t any demons involved.

Now that the ambulance had left and all the crashing had stopped the neighbours were starting to peer out of their windows.  “Alright, quiet!” Sam snapped.  He walked over to Steve, who so far, seemed the most level headed.  “Look, I think we’re all finding this a bit – weird.”  Steve raised his eye brows precipitously.  Sam abruptly became very aware he was standing next to an ATF agent carrying an illegal handgun, but he ploughed on. “But this is about the worst place ever for this conversation.  So how about we go and do this elsewhere.  I mean, you can tell if I’m lying right?”  Steve nodded.  “So you know I’m not lying when I say I want to sort this out just as much as you do.  So let’s just get out of here, and find some place quiet, and we’ll discuss this.  What do you say?”

Steve considered him for a moment.  “Ok, you can follow us back home.  If you’re actually going to do it.”  He stared right into Sam’s eyes.

Sam took a step back.  “We’ll follow you back.  And we’ll talk.” 

Steve smiled and turned on his heel.  “Alright everyone, back home.”

“Come on Dean, Cas, you’re coming with us.”  Sam gestured and headed in the direction of the Impala.

“Righty-Ho then.  I guess I’m coming with you then.” HG replied, as she followed Pete and Myka.

Everyone returned to their cars.   

Dean looked so murderous that Sam gave him a full ten minutes before saying anything at all.  “So, you said you know Claudia from Minneapolis, you said?” he asked.

“Yes.” Dean grunted. 

Cas, who was in the back seat, and thus couldn’t see Dean’s face very well leant forward.  “You know that girl Dean?  Did she cry that much upon your previous acquaintance?”

“No.”  Dean said.  “I mean, yes she was in Minneapolis, no she did not cry that much.  Or hug anyone.  She’s changed.”

That made Sam and Cas both lean forward, which made Dean hunch over the steering wheel and glower even more.

“Look, it was a really long time ago, and I didn’t even know her that well, but she was, you know, really jumpy, all by herself.” Dean pull his arms towards his body and widened his eyes to mime skittishness.  Sam had met homeless teenagers before, he got the point.  “I know she was living with her brother, but he died.  Got the sense there was an intermediate step between that and Minneapolis, but I kind of didn’t ask.  God knows how she ended up running around with a bunch of feds.”

“I don’t understand.” Cas interjected, “Under what circumstances did you meet Claudia.”

Dean sighed, he didn’t actually rest his head against the steering wheel, but it was a near thing.  “I was working a job in Minneapolis, Dad was a town over, Sam was at Stanford.  There were these, like three assholes hassling this scrawny little girl so I hit them, because, just because.  And I dunno, she looked pathetic, like I said, she’s changed, and I wanted to make sure she was okay, so I bought her some food and checked up on her a few times before I left.  I guess she kind of took to me, or whatever, cause she told me about her brother and stuff, which was a bit odd, I guess, but then I left town and I haven’t seen her since.”

“I don’t find it odd.  You were both missing your respective siblings, it makes sense that the two of you would bond.” Castiel said.

“Dude, we did not bond.  I checked up on her once or twice, then the job finished, I left town, I haven’t heard from her since.” Dean said. 

The story was only half true.  In actual fact Dean had actually taken Claudia to a diner and let her eat until she was full, partly because she had, in fact, looked pathetic, but also because he knew from experience exactly how much no fun at all it was to be leered at people who were bigger and heavier than you were (and that was considering that for the most part, he’d have been able to fight them off if he had to), and he knew what it meant when you couldn’t stop your head from swiveling towards anything food related and yes, he kept trying to look out for Sam, and Sam not being there was making it difficult.  The rest had been problem solving (he told himself).  For whatever reason Claudia had decided to trust him enough to fall asleep in the Impala and he couldn’t very well hunt ghouls with a teenage girl sleeping in his car but he didn’t have the heart to wake her up and make her get out.  So he’d picked her up and dumped her inside his motel room with the key and a note ( _Room paid up for 1 week, back at some point, probably – Dean_ ) and spent the two days between finishing his hunt and the next call from John avoiding the motel while pretending he wasn’t so she wouldn’t get freaked out and run off (because at Claudia’s age it’s what he would have done, if he’d ended up in a motel with some guy ten years older than he was).  Neither Sam nor Cas needed to know any of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas nailed it. I just love the image of Dean and Claudia sort of glomming on to each other because they're both so lonely.


	3. Pizza and Secret Societies

It was a nine hour drive from Wisconsin to the Warehouse and they did it with only a handful of breaks.  They trailed into the B and B a little after nine-thirty.  Artie was waiting for them.  “Did you get it?  What took so long?”

            “Oh my God!” Abigail gasped from behind him.  “Myka, Pete, are you alright, what happened?”  They were both still smeared with blood.

            “We’re fine, everyone’s fine.” Pete reassured her.

            Then Sam and Dean walked in.  “Who are these people?” Artie growled.

            “Its okay, Artie, I know them.” Claudia cut in.

            “And you think you can just bring them home?  Like puppies?” Artie continued.  “Can we please maintain some degree of professionalism, and decorum and, no Trailer!” 

            Trailer the dog had come thumping down the stairs and ran up to the new arrivals.  Sam immediately lit up and knelt down to say hello.  “No, stop playing with the dog and leave.” Artie kept going.

            “No, don’t leave, everyone stop.  Artie, leave them alone, we need to talk to them, but I am tired and I have been driving all over the country and I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I’m having the weirdest day of my life, which is really saying something, so I’m going to go and take a shower and then we are going to get to the bottom of this.” Myka said as she stormed upstairs. 

            “I’ll order pizza,” said Abigail.

 

            Sam, Dean and Cas were herded inside by Steve and Artie who sat, and watched them in frosty silence until Pete and Myka descended in clean clothes, Abigail returned with an impressive stack of Pizza boxes, and HG returned from securing the knife-block at the Warehouse.  They settled into the living room.  Pete, Myka and Steve all sank into one couch, Claudia perched on the arm nearest Steve and draped her feet casually across Steve and Myka.  Sam and Dean settled onto a second couch, with HG and Artie facing them and Cas standing behind them.  Abbie settled by the door.  Artie, as it turned out was capable of saying “Please, have some pizza,” and make it sound like a threat.  But neither Sam nor Dean were going to turn down the offer of free pizza. 

             Artie waited the exact length of time it took Myka to eat one slice of pizza and lean back into the couch cushions.  This was a length of time equivalent to one and a half Pete-slices, two Dean-slices and also the time needed for Claudia to slide entirely off the arm of the couch into Steve’s lap but not enough for Cas to shift position from where he was standing behind Sam and Dean.  “Now, will someone please tell me, why these three, _individuals_ , are here?”

            Myka sat back up.  “Well they were in the house with the last knife…” she started to explain.  She slowly explained the whole situation, the demon and HG showing up, and then Sam and Dean and finally Castiel.  Artie listened, frowning more and more thunderously at Sam and Dean.  “Demons!” he barked finally.

            Sam put down his pizza and started placating “I know it sounds difficult to believe, but we really are-“

            Artie cut him off.  “Believing is not my problem here.  You are my problem.”

            “Hey what do you mean the demons are not the problem?” Pete whined.

            “Artie are you telling us you _knew_ about this, about demons and, and _angels_?” Myka asked, leaning forward and stretching out her neck.  “Why didn’t you tell us?  What were you thinking?  I mean, I thought we were done with the secrets crap.”

            “What the hell Artie?” Claudia yowled. 

            “No, no.  This is all I know, and you don’t even want to know, how I know that.  Warehouse agents do not deal with demons, they are strictly out of our jurisdiction.”  Artie said, waving his hands negatingly.   

            “Oh come on!” Claudia yelled, “out of our jurisdiction?  That is exactly our jurisdiction; weird crap that ruins the world’s day right?”

            “No,” Artie replied, “we hunt artifacts.  We do not kill demons.”

            “Yeah, but that doesn’t even make sense.” Said Pete.  “I mean, we find all these weird things, and its always an artifact, its never, ever a demon until now?  That’s just weird.”

            “No, the Warehouse system is specially set up not to detect demonic activity.  Because they are not our problem.”

            “What do you mean they’re not our problem?  We don’t do this Artie, we can’t just ignore something bad going on like this.” Said Myka. 

            “Yeah,” agreed Steve “I mean, I know we’re not much for hunting bad guys, but there are limits.”

            Artie growled.  “Alright, everyone, shut up!  Do you seriously think, that I am not aware of these issues?  You think the Regents are having us let _demons_ run loose because they think we’re liable to be intimidated by things that go bump in the night?”

            “Well what are you doing then Artie?” HG cut in, “because this is complete news to me and quite frankly, I’m not impressed.”

            Artie grimaced.  “The demons are not running loose, other people are taking care of the demons, and, they, not what they hunt, are what we are avoiding, because they are an exceedingly uncooperative group of people who you really don’t want to mess with.”

            “Seriously, you’re Feds and you’re scared of a bunch of Hunters?” Dean asked.

            Sam put two and two together before they could reply, “You’re talking about the Men of Letters.”

            Artie’s head swivelled towards Sam.  It was exceedingly owl-like, a comparison exacerbated by Artie’s impressive eyebrows.  “Do you mean to tell me you’ve actually met the Men of Letters?”

            “Well, not exactly,” Sam said.

            “Because seeing as they all died in 1958, they’re  a little hard to get a hold of.”  Dean finished.

            “Died?  What do you mean they all died?” Artie asked, swivelling towards Dean.

            “Uh, died as in, ceased to be alive – simultaneously.” Dean replied.

            Artie actually leapt to his feet.  “Oh this is very, very bad,” he moaned.  “I have to contact Mrs Fredrick and the Regents right now.”  He checked his watch, “No, its too late to call them now.”

            Abbie walked into the middle of the room, “You know what,” she said.  “It’s really too late for any of this, and if these, Men of Letters, died in 1958 I think we can wait one more night to tell the Regents about it.  So I’ll go find some rooms for our guests, and we can all deal with this in the morning.”  She headed upstairs.      


	4. Awkward Late Night Conversations

Abbie led Sam, Dean and Cas upstairs and directed them towards three different rooms. “You can sleep here.” She said.

“I don’t sleep.” Said Cas.

Abbie looked disbelievingly at him; no one had told her about angels. “Well, there are books on the shelf. Have a nice night.” She replied. Then she walked back downstairs with a little wave.

The rooms were very comfortable, but Sam couldn’t settle. It was early for him, only about 11pm, and it had been a weird day. Demons were one thing, but between Cas showing up, a scrap with the Feds and meeting his second supernatural secret society in less than a month, there was no way he was going to be able to sleep. After some extremely half-hearted tossing and turning and a bit of pacing, he headed back down stairs. He ended up sprawled in a chair in the living room, facing the stairs, with his legs stretched out in front of him.

When Claudia came down stairs ten minutes later, she tripped over them on the way to the solarium and landed in Sam’s lap. “Wah, oof, sorry, um, Sam. It’s Sam right?” She said, as she got up off Sam’s lap and plopped into the chair next to him. “So I guess you were at college after all.” She said, after a moment.

“Excuse me?” Sam asked.

“Well, you’re Dean’s brother Sam right,” Claudia said. “Dean said you were at college, but he’d always get this weird look on his face, and I kind of thought that maybe you were dead and he didn’t want to talk about it.” The last nine words came out in a rush.

Sam considered Claudia for a minute. It was too dark for him to really see her expression, but the tone of her voice, and the fact that Dean had ‘always’ had a look on his face was at odds with the story Dean had told him about encountering Claudia only briefly. “Yeah, I was at Stanford. I kind of ran out, Dean was pretty upset.”

“You ran away from home and went to Stanford? That’s pretty wacky. And now you hunt demons. Bet that’s not in the Stanford brochures.” Claudia said.

“No, the Hunting is more of a family business, my family is a little – interesting. Dean told me about your brother, I’m really sorry.” Sam replied.

“My – you mean Joshua. Oh, no, he’s not dead. I thought he was, but he was just trapped in an alternate dimension, we got him out, he’s working at CERN now.” Claudia explained, for certain values of explain.

“Oh.” Sam replied. “That’s – I’m glad to hear that.” He paused. “So Dean actually told you about that?” He started up again. Claudia nodded. Sam could see the outline of her face bobbing up and down. “Wow, he - said he just met you the once.”

“He was really nice.” Claudia replied. “Got me out of a, um, real jam, gave me a place to stay for a few days. I mean, he probably didn’t think it was a big deal, it probably slipped his mind. Its just that I, um, I felt safe and I hadn’t in a while, and this is way too much sharing and I will stop now.” She looked away and over her shoulder and she stammered but she didn’t stop. “I think he was lonely.”

Sam sat up and leaned forward before he could help himself.

“It was like having my brother back. And he never asked me for anything, or, you know, anything… so, when he mentioned you, I thought, maybe he missed his brother too.” She immediately pressed one hand over his mouth. “Oh God that sounded really bad. It’s not your fault, or anything. I mean, if you have to run away to Stanford, there’s probably, like, stuff.”

“No its okay.” Sam replied. “I mean, I know what Dean thought about me leaving. It just… Some things happened last year and then Dean was away for a while, and ever since he’s got back he’s been kind of, different. Except now I kind of wondering if he’s actually different or if I’m just, I don’t know, noticing it more. Its… actually you’re right, that’s enough sharing.”

Claudia’s whole body went rigid. What Sam could see of her face looked absolutely stricken. “I’m going to, um, tired, very tired, bed, leaving, I’m so sorry.” She yammered as she fled up the stairs, leaving Sam sunk into his chair, staring at the ceiling.

 

While Sam and Claudia were not sleeping downstairs, Myka and HG were not sleeping upstairs. Myka was pacing back and forth when HG knocked briefly and stuck her head around the door. “Helena, please come in.”

They both perched on the end of Myka’s bed, just the wrong distance apart. “I couldn’t sleep. I saw your light was on.” HG explained.

“No, its been kind of a weird day. I couldn’t either.” Said Myka. “Thanks for your help today.”

“Not at all,” HG replied. She hadn’t made eye-contact since she walked in.

“How are you doing HG?” Myka asked, after a minute.

“I think I’m supposed to be asking you that.” HG deflected. For the first time, she met Myka’s eyes and smiled just a little.

“Oh, I’m just fine, Castiel patched me right up. So I guess he must be the real deal, right?” She shifted in her seat and shoved her hair back. “Are you okay? Oh my God, are Nate and Adelaide okay?”

HG abruptly shrunk and clutched her locket. “They’re fine. As far as I know. We gave it a go, but it turns out that Nate didn’t like Helena Wells quite as much as Emily Lake.”

“Oh Helena, I’m so sorry.” Myka scooted over and put her arms around HG. HG tilted and slid until her head was resting on Myka’s shoulder. Myka shifted so she could have a better grip, but what was there to say, _I’m sorry if I accidentally ruined your life_. She settled her head on top of Helena’s. They sat there for a minute, HG slowly relaxing into Myka’s side, Myka growing more and more tense. It took Myka four tries to finally get something out, “Have you – I mean you – If I – This can always be your home.” She finally said, “You know that, right?”

HG looked up and gave her an extremely watery smile and then kissed her. It’s a very soft, tentative kiss, and it was slightly damp where HG had been crying. It was also amazing. Myka froze. It was the wrong thing to do; HG pulled away and jerked backwards off Myka’s bed.

“I’m so sorry.” She gasped and ran out of the room.

“No, HG, wait,” called Myka, just a bit too late.


	5. Pancakes

Dean was not the first one downstairs in the morning. Pete was already in the kitchen making pancakes and a mess.

“Good morning,” he said to Dean, waving a spatula. “Oh, hey, would you grab the plates, they’re in the cupboard on the left.”

Dean went and fetched a stack of plates. “Are those pancakes?”

“I’m being friendly.” Pete explained. “There’s coffee too. The cups are in that other cupboard. No – the other, other cupboard.”

“Awesome,” Dean muttered, dumping the plates on the counter and grabbing a mug.

As Dean started carrying crockery out into the solarium the other residents of the B and B started to filter down the stairs. They were obviously following a well-worn routine and sort of flowed around Sam, Dean and Cas as they settled in. Claudia trailed down the stairs last. She had replaced the brilliantly magenta stripe in her hair with an equally bright teal one and her eyes were still about half shut. Steve handed her a mug full of coffee on his way on the kitchen to make tea before she could even finish moaning “I need coffee.”

Claudia gulped coffee until her eyes opened all the way, “Morning Jinxie.” She said, when she had recovered her powers of speech and Steve returned with his tea.

Steve nodded amicably and grabbed a pile of pancakes.

Claudia turned to Sam. “Morning. You get any sleep, or were you down here all night?”

“No, I’m good,” said Sam.

Dean fled back into the kitchen. “Hey,” he said to Pete, “You know, I can finish making pancakes if you want to, you know, eat some pancakes.”

“Oh my God, have you pissed off Myka already?” Asked Pete.

“What. No. I’m just being – friendly. You made pancakes, so we’re friends now.” Said Dean, rather tightly.

Pete smirked. “Oh no, I’m not going to save you ‘til you tell me what you did.” He brandished his spatula at Dean to punctuate the statement.

Dean grimaced. “Oh that is not fair.”

Pete moved in front of the door, still fending Dean off with a batter coated spatula. He was grinning broadly and trying to make eye contact and clearly he’s hoping that Dean will get some joke or other. But Dean couldn’t even figure out what the joke was supposed to be, much less if it was funny. “Claudia and my brother are talking about me.” He mumbled. “To each other.”

Pete frowned and flipped the spatula over and handed it to Dean handle first, like a knife. “I will entrust this to you then. Make good pancakes.”

 

Sam saw Dean disappear into the kitchen the second Claudia opened her mouth, but opted to let him be and talk to him later. Possibly much later. Around him everyone was plodding through their morning routine. Abbie had emerged and was gulping coffee. Claudia was having a slow moving argument with Steve about something called a Tesla, Artie was reading the newspaper and Myka was methodically eating breakfast and ignoring everyone. Just as Pete came out of the kitchen with a new plateful of pancakes Myka stood up abruptly and left.

“Hey, Myka, where are you going?” asked Pete.

“Just an appointment. Its nothing, I’ll catch up with you at the Warehouse,” said Myka.

Pete’s forehead wrinkled. “Well, drive safe.” Pete found Myka’s surliness both unusual and worrying, but Sam had only met Myka while she was working, so he had no way of knowing that. Pete then turned to Cas, who was standing behind Sam’s seat, watching the whole tableau. “Hey, Angel-boy, Castiel, why aren’t you eating. Come, eat some pancakes.”

“That’s fine. I don’t need to eat,” said Cas.

Pete’s eyes widened and his lips drooped. “But you, you know, can right? Eat food?”

“I can,” confirmed Cas.

Pete immediately brightened. “Then have some pancakes.” He held a plate, expectantly out to Cas.

Cas tilted his head and frowned at Pete, “Thank you, but that isn’t necessary.”

Claudia turned around and got in on the act. “Oh come on, they’re really good pancakes. You should have some.”

Pete dumped three of the pancakes onto the plate. Claudia jumped up, grabbed a bottle of syrup and poured it over the pancakes. Even Steve, who seemed relatively sensible, added a pile of fruit. When Dean eventually emerged from the kitchen, he was treated to the sight of Pete and Claudia chasing Cas around with a plate full of syrup-drenched pancakes. Steve, HG and Sam, were laughing and egging them on. Even Artie had put down his newspaper to watch. Eventually they backed Cas into a corner and he gave in and took the pancakes. He ate neatly, slicing the pancakes into small pieces and alternating bites of pancake and pieces of fruit. He kept a neutral expression the whole time, but Dean could see that he was actually enjoying the food. The corners of his eyes and mouth and relaxed, and he was leaning in a bit and focusing on what he was eating.

However much he might have wanted to, Dean did not get the chance to watch Castiel finish his breakfast. A box by Artie’s left elbow, which looked a bit like a mutant, steampunk iPhone emitted a truly unholy shrieking honk. Artie picked it up and flipped it open. “Mrs Fredrick.” He said.

“Hello Artie.” Said a woman’s voice from Arties odd looking phone. “I received your message. We need to talk. Are your guests from last night still there?”

Artie nodded. “Yes.”

“Very good.” Mrs Fredrick replied. “Bring them. Meet me at the Warehouse immediately.”

“You want us to bring them to the Warehouse?” Artie asked tilting his head so he looked like an owl again.

“Did I stutter?” The voice on the other end of the phone said coldly.

“Ah, no, we’ll all be right over.” said Artie he shut the phone and looked up. “Alright, you all heard the lady. Get a move on.”

Everyone jumped up and started clearing the table and in short order had piled into their cars. Claudia ended up in the back of the Impala, giving directions. Dean spent the trip staring straight ahead, leant forward and clutching the steering wheel, which had the effect of limiting the conversation to statements like ‘turn left at that statue’.

“And its just around this bend.” Claudia finished up.

The bend in the road was the top of a gentle slope down the side of a mountain leading into a wide, dusty valley. From the top of the ridge they had a clear view of the hulking warehouse where it emerged from the side of the mountain.

“Wow.” Said Sam.

Cas didn’t speak but he shifted forward to get a good look. Dean didn’t react.

“Welcome to Warehouse 13.” Claudia said, when they reached the bottom of the valley and pulled up in front of the Warehouse door. She even managed most of her usual flair, as she clicked the door to the umbilicus open and lead them inside.


	6. The Ferret in the Tea Kettle

Pete and Steve’s cars were already in front of the Warehouse when they pulled up, so Claudia skipped introductory chatter in favour of hurrying Dean, Sam and Castiel into Artie’s office. 

Mrs Fredrick was waiting for them. “Hello Claudia. Why don’t you introduce me to your friends?”

Claudia jerked to attention. “This is Dean Winchester, this is Sam and this is Castiel, who is an angel.” She said, pointing. “Guys, this is Mrs Fredrick, the Caretaker of Warehouse 13.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Said Mrs Fredrick, extending her hand and looking over her glasses, which made Dean feel about twelve years old.

“Pleased to meet you Ma’am” Sam cut in.

“So the Men of Letters are gone and you are their descendants?” Mrs Fredrick asked.

“Yes Ma’am,” Sam replied.

“And when did you learn of this?” Mrs Fredrick asked.

“About a month ago.”

Mrs Fredrick’s eyebrows rose, “and that was the first you heard of them?”

“Yes. Our Grandfather was a Man of Letters but he was killed – they all were, by Abaddon, a demon – we, Dean and I were raised to be hunters, we only learned about the Men of   
Letters recently.” 

Mrs Fredrick nodded slowly. “I see. How much did Arthur tell you about this place?”

“He didn’t.” Dean answered, “he just said you really didn’t get on with the Men of Letters.”

Mrs Fredrick nodded again. “It would be more accurate to say that the Men of Letters didn’t get on with us. The Warehouse has always attempted to maintain a good relationship with its host government, its why we employ government agents. The Men of Letters are more, let us say, insular. They always preferred to keep their secrets within their own organization, and consistently refused to work with us, or with anyone else, so, eventually, we simply adapted to working around them.” She paused to give everyone a chance to absorb the information. 

Dean was looking increasingly skeptical, but Sam didn’t find it remotely surprising, after all, when they’d met Henry he’d been carrying a key he’d never seen, which opened a bunker he didn’t know about when he’d been hours away from initiation. But then, Dean always assumed the worst about Feds.

“But if the Men of Letters are gone.” Mrs Fredrick continued, “then that will have to change.”

“What, you want to work together now, be buddies?” Dean asked, popping the ‘b’ a little, to make it sound ridiculous.

“Something of that nature, yes,” replied Mrs Fredrick, with perfect sincerity. “Tell me, are the Men of Letters’ facilities still intact?”

“Yes,” said Sam. “But we’re not telling you where they are.”

“Yes, yes,” Mrs Fredrick tutted at him, “and have you told anyone else this secret?”

“A few of our allies,” Sam said, trying not to give too much away, he didn’t dislike the Feds as much as Dean did, but he also didn’t consider being dragged off to a secret warehouse grounds for close and lasting friendship.

Mrs Fredrick nodded and smiled at him in a way that suggested she knew exactly what Sam was doing. “Very well. I am going to explain this situation to Regents, in the mean time, HG, our records of interactions with the Men of Letters are located in the Records Archive under that name. If you could retrieve those and bring them to me, and,” she said, turning to Artie “I suggest you show our new friends here the Warehouse, in the interest of, good-will.” Then she turned on her heel and vanished before Artie could explain exactly how much of a bad idea he thought that was.

“Wow,” said Dean, turning to Cas, “she’s worse than you.”

While Pete and Steve stared after Mrs Fredrick and Artie muttered to himself, Claudia jumped up and led Sam, Dean and Cas out onto the balcony overlooking the Warehouse floor. “Welcome to Warehouse 13,” she announced.

It took the trip down the stairs onto the Warehouse floor and through the first two aisles before either Sam or Dean managed a response other than slack-jawed staring. “Holy crap,” said Dean, peering at the shelves, “is that really Jimmi Hendrix’s guitar?”

“Don’t touch it!” Claudia, Steve, Artie and Pete all yelled.

“Alright, alright,” Dean muttered. “What’s the worst that could happen anyway, its just a guitar.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Artie grumbled, “last time that thing got loose it nearly blacked out the Eastern Seaboard. Just a guitar…” he trailed off.

Dean went back to staring. 

“But how does that work,” Sam asked, “I mean, how is Jimmi Hendrix’s guitar able to do something like that?”

“Energy,” said Claudia. “when someone does something, like, extra extraordinary sometimes the energy from their emotions in the like, specific moment, soaks into an object, and then that object becomes an Artifact. And if that Artifact later causes trouble, we have to snag it, bag it and tag it, and then it winds up here.”

Sam blinked, he didn’t really know what to say to that. “But how…” he eventually managed.

“I have no idea.” Claudia cut him off.

Dean grimaced. “Seriously, that sounds like something out of a bad movie.”

“No Dean,” said Cas, who had been quietly trailing behind them, “they are correct. I can feel the energy in these objects. Human beings are really, very impressive.” 

Dean shrugged. 

 

They continued down the next aisle in silence until Artie suddenly froze. “Dean, I need you to hold very still, and, if at all possible, not think.”

“What, why,” Dean looked down and found that he was holding a large tea-kettle. 

“Dean what did you do?” moaned Sam.

“I didn’t do nothing, this thing just, showed up,” replied Dean.

“No, its not you its that thing its always causing trouble,” muttered Artie, “just don’t wish for anything while I go get the-“ But it was too late. The kettle rattled tremendously and a ferret popped out of the top. 

“Yeah, that thing just likes certain people, and we’ve never been able to figure out who,” said Artie, as he returned with a large bucket of purple goo “just grab the ferret and throw the kettle in here.” 

Dean threw the kettle in so fast only Steve’s timely intervention saved the ferret. “What the hell is that thing?”

“Oh, it grants wishes,” said Artie, breezily, “sort of, but if you wish for something totally impossible, then you get a ferret.” 

Steve held the ferret out to Dean. 

Dean recoiled, “well, I don’t want a ferret, get that thing away from me.”

“Aw,” said Claudia, “but he’s so cute.” 

Dean looked unimpressed.

“Fine,” Claudia said, and turned to Steve, “I think there’s still a cage in Artie’s office, you can put him in there, and he can go hang out with Pete at the B and B. Myka’s ferret is called Pete.” She then explained, as Sam, Dean and Cas all turned to stare at the real Pete.

Steve headed back towards the office with Dean’s new ferret, and everyone else continued down the aisle, but the wishing kettle had definitely put a damper on the proceedings. Sam and Dean had both stopped peering at the items on the shelves and were conspicuously keeping their hands in their pockets. Artie, Pete and Claudia were all smiling nervously and restricting themselves to commenting on the layout of the Warehouse, while avoiding the Artifacts. 

Castiel, on the other hand, seemed remarkably unbothered by the whole affair, and continued calmly looking about, periodically stopping to scrutinize some object or another so he lagged behind the rest of the group. He didn’t say anything else for the duration of their circuit around the Warehouse floor and back into the office, where Steve was waiting with Dean’s new ferret in a cage.

Everyone stood around for a minute, seemingly at a loss for what do say next. 

Pete fiddled with his phone for a second, “hey Myka’s back, I’m gonna go check that she’s okay.” He said, flailing towards the umbilicus.

Pete moving started a small exodus as Sam, Dean and Cas headed back to the Impala and Steve, Claudia and Dean’s ferret followed Pete. Artie volunteered to stay behind and wait for HG and in Pete’s words “have some grumpy, antisocial time.” 

 

Myka was sitting in the sun room sipping coffee when they arrived. She gave them a tight grin and a “hi guys,” when they walked in and said nothing else and ignored Pete’s nervous hovering as everyone filtered in and distributed themselves throughout the B and B to wait for Artie, HG and Mrs. Fredrick. After about a minute of silent awkwardness Myka choked out “Castiel, can I have a word?” stood up abruptly and walked into the hall. Castiel frowned the way he always did when he had to deal with humans behaving inexplicably, but he got up and followed her.

Myka stood in the hallway and stared at Castiel, sucking air in through her nose to keep her voice steady, “the other day, you –“ she gasped a bit and tried again, “you didn’t just fix that stab wound the other day, did you?”

Castiel shook his head slowly, “no, that would have been rather counter productive.”

They paused for a beat while the implication of that caught up with Myka and she abruptly burst into tears. When Pete came out to see what had happened he found Castiel standing frozen with his arms held stiffly at his sides while Myka sobbed into his coat.

“Hey, hey now Mikes, what wrong? Are you okay?”

Myka made a few snuffling noises into Castiel’s shoulder in response, then turned to Pete and flashed him a watery little smile, “its n-nothing,” she stammered, “I just – I had this test and – and I think – think it just hit me I nearly died yesterday –“ then she burst into tears again. “And now I can’t – can’t stop – crying!” she managed.

Castiel stood still while Myka clung to his shirt, and didn’t comment on the lie.

“Aw Mikes,” Pete mumbled, “its alright.” He put an arm around Myka’s shoulders and tugged her off of Castiel’s shoulder and onto his, “how ‘bout you come cry on me now. You’re scaring the angel.”

Myka laughed damply into Pete’s shoulder.

 

In the commotion, none of them heard HG come in. She paused at the door, and took in the scene; Myka sobbing into Pete’s shoulder, while Castiel looked on in total confusion, but they didn’t see her and she went upstairs without saying anything.


	7. Time to Think

By the time everyone filtered back into the living room Mrs Fredrick had returned.   She was accompanied by a middle-eastern looking man in a smartly tailored grey suit, who immediately stepped forward and held out his hand, “Sam and Dean Winchester?  I’m Adwin Kosan, leader of the Regents of Warehouse 13.”

Sam and Dean got to their feet and exchanged handshakes with Kosan.   

“I’ve seen an awful lot doing this job,” he looked them both up and down appraisingly, then looked over at Mrs Fredrick with a hint of a smile, “but even for me, meeting the leaders of the Men of Letters, is very exciting.”

Dean absolutely bristled.  “Yeah, we’re great leaders, leaders of the whole organization of – oh wait, its just the two of us.”

Sam looked at Dean’s increasingly battle-ready posture, pursed his lips and stepped in front of his brother, “Mr. Kosan, I think you’re really overstating the matter.  My brother and I were raised as Hunters, we've barely known about the Men of Letters for a week, and as far as we know, we’re the only ones that do.  Calling us leaders is flattering but it really –“

Mr. Kosan held up a hand to cut him off.  “No Mr. Winchester, I am overstating nothing.  Regardless of your experience, or you preparation for the job you are the current leaders of the Men of Letters.”

“Are you not listening?” Barked Dean, “there are no Men of Letters!  They died.”

Mr. Kosan lent around Dean to address the Warehouse agents.  “Could you please give us a minute?” He asked.

There was a brief commotion as everyone got up and shuffled out of the room.  Claudia flashed Sam and Dean a grin and a thumbs up over her shoulder as she left.

Then Mr. Kosan turned back to Dean.  “If the Men of Letters are gone, then, as their current leader, it is your responsibility to rebuild them.”

 “Oh it is, is it?” snarled Dean.

“Yes,” said Mr Kosan, still smiling slightly. 

“Listen pal,” Dean continued, “if you think that just because you've dragged us out here to your top-secret Warehouse full of wacky you can just strut in and order us around you really got another thing coming.”

Mr Kosan totally ignored this outburst and turned to Sam.  “I am not ordering.  You are not my subordinates.  You are my colleagues, my equals.  I’m simply ensuring you are aware of that.  What you do with your position is your business.  If you wish to continue acting alone, that is your right.  But I would advise you, strongly, to consider doing otherwise.”

Sam started nodding before he really knew what he was doing.

But none of the tension left Dean’s jaw.  ‘We've been managing fine by ourselves,” he ground out.

“Indeed,” said Kosan, nodding in time with Sam.  “If the Men of Letters really were lost seventy years ago then you – your community have been doing an exemplary job.”

And that finally got Dean’s shoulders down from around his ears.

“But,” Mr. Kosan continued, “while you may not _need_ the Men of Letters, have you considered that you might _want_ them?  That perhaps you could make things better than they are now?”

Sam could see Dean’s jaw work as he started to turn the idea over in his head.  He was turning it too.  What he saw looked good.  It looked marvelous; which made him want to tear the whole idea apart until he found the catch.  “We don’t really know what the Men of Letters could do,” he explained, scrabbling for breathing room, “or even, what they did, really.  To be totally honest all we actually have is a dusty bunker full of files we haven’t read.   I think we need more time before we make any decisions.”

The play, if that’s what it was, worked.  Mr. Kosan gave Sam and Dean each a curt nod and a business card printed on heavy linen paper, then turned and left.

“Hey Cas?” said Dean, grabbing his coat, which he’d thrown over a chair when they’d come in and turning around.  But Cas had vanished.  “Oh not this again,” Dean snarled, with a sort of angry sigh.

 

While Sam and Dean were talking to Mr. Kosan, Mrs. Frederick beckoned Claudia aside.  “There’s something I want to show you,” she said, as she led Claudia outside to stand in front of the Impala.  “Do you see it?” she asked, after a moment. 

Claudia stared at Dean’s car.  It looked the same as it had that morning.  Actually, it looked pretty similar to how it had looked back in Minneapolis.  She glanced over at Mrs. Frederick, who stared evenly back at her until she took a second look.  And there was… something.  When she squinted and looked straight into the front seat she could, not see something exactly, but sort of feel something with her eyes.  It was both creepy and slightly familiar.  “Holy crap,” Claudia squealed, “is this thing an artifact?”

“Just so,” said Mrs. Frederick, and flashed Claudia a small smile that made Claudia happier than she would admit to.

“Oh God,” said Claudia, “we aren’t gonna have to snag, back and tag Dean’s car are we?  Because that – that would not go over well.  Is it dangerous?”

“Well, Artifacts rarely give their original owners trouble, so I think we can leave it for now.  But why don’t you see if you can figure out what it does.” Mrs Frederick suggested.

Claudia threw her a sloppy salute, “right you are, oh sneaky assigner of lessons,” she said and resumed staring at the Impala’s windshield.

When Sam and Dean came out of the B & B, Claudia was sitting cross-legged on the Impala’s hood, with her hands flat on the chassis. 

“What are you doing?” grumbled Dean, “get off of my car.”

Claudia jumped and slithered off of the Impala, “hey guys,” she squeaked, “just, you know, hanging out.  Are you guys leaving?  Where’s your angel buddy?” she yammered.

“He’s fucked off again.  And yes.” Dean grunted.  But then he smiled.  “See yah kid.”

Claudia slid off of the Impala and gave Dean a hug.  “Stay in touch,” she said into his shoulder “come back and visit.”

“Yeah, sure thing kid,” Dean replied.

As the Impala pulled away, Mrs Fredrick came and stood by Claudia’s shoulder.  “Well,” she asked.

“I don’t know,” said Claudia, “I felt something.  It felt okay I guess, I mean.  It didn’t feel evil.  It was  - it felt –“ she scrunched her eyes shut.  “I dunno kind of sad I guess, but, like, nice-sad.  Is that a thing.  Oh who am I kidding that’s not a thing.”

“It will come.”  Mrs. Frederick said evenly. 

Claudia opened her eyes and looked directly at Mrs. Frederick, and was rewarded with a flat expression and a raised eyebrow for her troubles.  She scrunched her eyes shut again.  “It feels – feels – _oh_ – it feels loyal.”

Claudia didn't know what to think about that.

 

Sam and Dean didn't talk until they had wound they’re way back onto the main road.

“Nice play,” Dean said curtly.  “Thought that guy would never shut up.”

Sam sighed.  “It wasn't a play Dean.” 

Dean shot him a sideways look.

“Okay, well, maybe it was, but I wasn't lying.  We should take time to decide what we’re going to do,” said Sam.

“Well, we’re going to Hunt.  What else would we do?”  Dean asked.

Sam sighed, “Dean.  We should think about this.”

“I am thinking about it,” Dean replied.  “I get that you’re all wound up about this Men of Letters stuff and I’m the first to admit that its awesome.  But this secret society stuff.  This isn’t us Sam.”

Sam returned Dean’s sideways glare. “Well have you considered that maybe it could be?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Dean asked.

“Its just we have all these… these things, now, and I think Kosan might be right.  Maybe we could, I dunno, make a real difference.  Really change things.  Will you at least think about it Dean?” Sam asked.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned up the music.  Sam shelved the conversation and didn't say anything else until the tape had wound down.  But he didn't want Dean to stew for the seven hour drive back to Kansas either.  “What did you wish for?” He asked.

“’Scuse me?” grunted Dean.

“Well, that Kettle thing, they said it granted wishes, or you know, ferrets, so, what did you wish for to get a ferret?”

“Shut up Sam.”

“No.”

“I didn't wish for anything.”

“Then why did you get a ferret?”

“I don’t know, maybe they were screwing with us, did you think of that Sam?” Dean grunted.

“Dean what has gotten into you?  I mean, I get that you don’t like Feds, but seriously.  I don’t buy that, and you don’t either.” Sam, and then looked down his nose at Dean while glowered at him.  “If its private then just tell me that for God’s sake.”

“I wasn't wishing Sam,” Dean said, to Sam’s rapidly rising eyebrows.  “I wasn't.  I was just…”

“ _Dean._ ” 

“I was worrying about Cas.  Okay.  He’s been acting weird, and now he’s flown off again, and I have no idea where he keeps going.”

Sam turned away from Dean to look out the window before he said “Oh.  I guess it must not be very accurate.” 

He let Dean have the last muttered, “Too right it was.”


	8. Everybody Hates Hitler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue and events in this chapter borrow very heavily from the Supernatural episode "Everybody Hates Hitler"

They pulled into the bunker’s garage after eight PM. Dean was barely in the bunker long enough to shower before heading out again.  Sam caught up with him as he was repacking the Impala’s truck.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Gonna go check on Kevin.” Dean grunted.

“Do you need to go now?  Can’t you just call?”  Sam asked.

“I’m gonna go see if he needs anything,” said Dean, without making eye contact.

“You’re going to get there in the middle of the night.” Sam pointed out.

Dean shrugged and grunted again before he pulled the Impala’s door shut far harder than necessary and gunned the engine.     

Sam just sighed, mumbled, “Sure thing Dean,” and left him to it. 

 

As soon as he’d finished stretching the trip out of his legs and back, bathed, and retrieved a bowl of canned chili and a beer from the kitchen, Sam hit the archives.  He had only had about half a day in the bunker before they had left for the possession case in Wisconsin.   Not nearly long enough to puzzle out the basics of the Men of Letter’s filing system.  Not even long enough to figure out if their filing system contained an actual system.  The construction of the archives certainly didn't.  Although, Sam reasoned, it was possible that there was a system, and that system was Daedalus’s maze. 

An hour and a half of searching earned Sam no concrete information on Warehouse 13, an encounter with a jar of something that had definitely gone off, more dust in his hair than he wanted to think about, and a box of neatly hand-written index cards labelled ‘contacts’.

Sam leafed through the box over his bowl of cooled, congealed chili. 

The top entry said _Campbells_ and listed an address in Lawrence Kansas.  Sam swallowed hard and gulped a few mouthfuls of beer before he set the card aside carefully.  The next card read _Millipore’s Private Bank_ , followed by a 1950s phone number, an address in Seattle and something that looked like an index number.  After pulling out the rest of the cards to check that they were all written the same, Sam drained his beer, pulled himself to his feet with a sigh and headed back into the archives. 

With his list of reference numbers to help him, searching wasn’t that much faster, but it was a bit more effective and Sam didn’t encounter any more jars full of moldering slime, which was encouraging. None of the contacts files were stored near each other, which meant it took nearly another full hour before Sam made it back to his table in the main reading room, juggling an armful of file folders and sneezing periodically when he jostled them and they shed puffs of seventy year old dust and mildew.

The file for Millipore’s Private Bank consisted mostly of accounting logs.  Sam spent just long enough leafing through them to realise he could lose himself in them, piecing together the story behind the accounts paid into and withdrawn from, and then shut them so he could handle the immediately relevant basics.  A few quick Google searches confirmed that the bank itself had shut its doors shortly after the Men of Letter themselves, whether from the loss of their backers, or their primary clientele Sam couldn’t determine.  Another search turned up a surviving Millipore; James Patrick Millipore, age 95, currently residing in a Seattle nursing home.  That probably made him old enough to have some real information, but it was too late to call, so Sam made a note of it and moved onto the next folder. 

Another relatively rapid search told Sam that Moore’s Tailor Shop was both closed, and unrelated to the large Canadian chain which filled the first page of search results.  A third failed to turn up any information whatsoever on the Family of Flowers.  The Men of Letters’ file on them contained page after page of names, many of them with reference numbers of their own, but Sam set them aside until he had the energy to go archive diving again.

The next two files, The Invisible College, and The Wheelwrights, were filled with dead contacts, and their search terms were so inundated by obviously unrelated minutiae that Sam blew them off entirely and traded alcohol for coffee before looking at his last file. 

_The Judah Initiative_ didn’t look promising.   It started with a set of grim looking photos dated 1943.  It was also filled with code words.  Dozens of slightly off-sounding names and phrases that Sam couldn’t easily look up.    It wasn’t until he’d skimmed his way nearly to the end that he found a yellowed group photo of a group of young men, with expressions that ranged from grim stares to fixed, tense smiles.  Their names were listed on the back of the photo.

Sam looked them up one by one.  Killed in action 1943.  Killed in action 1945.  Deceased, age 24, suicide.  Deceased, age 45, car accident.  Deceased, age 29, leukemia.  Deceased, age 54, lung cancer.  Deceased, age 69, complications of Huntington’s Disease.  Deceased, age 89, heart failure.  Deceased, age 85, spontaneous combustion.  Sam followed up on that.

 

When Dean eventually meandered back into the Bunker late the next morning Sam was still hunched over a pile of books, his hair forming a plume from where he’d been running his hands through it.  He didn’t look up until Dean dropped a case of beer in front of him.  “Oh, hey Dean,” he said, looking up.  “how was Kevin?”

“He was fine.” Dean grunted.

“Oh, great, here, I have a lot to show you.  I’ve been running down the Men of Letters’ old contacts and –“ Sam started to explain.

Dean cut him off with a wave of his hands.  “The Men of Letters’ contacts?  From seventy years ago?” 

“Well, yeah,” Sam explained.  “I mean, obviously a lot of them are defunct, but it’s a place to start, and there’s a ton of really interesting data here.  Anyway, I still need to go through a lot of it, but there’s something here I really want you to look at.”

Dean waved him off again.  “Sam, do you think maybe you need to calm down a bit.  I mean, I’m glad you’re enjoying the new toys and all, but we’re fine.  Why are you so eager to dredge up new friends all of a sudden?”

Sam sighed, and ran a hand across his face, “Dean, what is your problem?  I mean, I know the background reading isn’t your thing, but you’ve been acting funny ever since we got back from South Dakota.”

“I don’t have a problem.  I just think that we’re better off doing what we’ve always done.  It works for us.  We can handle things fine on our own.”

“I don’t want to handle it, Dean.  I’m sick of handling things.  We have been handling things, by the skin of our teeth for years.  And now we have all of this, and I think that we have a chance to do better than handling things.  But anyway, that isn’t what I wanted to show you right now.  Come look at this.”  Sam pulled the JI file out for Dean to look at.  “Look.  This file dates back to World War II.”

Dean actually did look over.  But he pouted about it.  “Hunters, fighting in a war?  That’s kind of cool.”

“Well, they aren’t actually Hunters.  They’re a group of Rabbis.”

“Rabbis?” asked Dean, and grimaced.

“Yeah, apparently they were saboteurs.  Pretty successful ones, from what I could see.  And as far as I can tell, they’re all deceased now.  But the last one, Isaac Bass, died last week.  He spontaneously combusted, Dean.”

“So you’ve actually found us a case?  Or is this another attempt to find us more friends we don’t need?”  Dean asked, leafing through the papers, “I just got in Sam.  Can’t it wait?”

Sam glared and started gathering up his notes in short pointed bursts, until Dean got the message, rolled his eyes, and stood back up.  “Fine, fine, I’ll get my stuff.”

 

Despite his frustration with Sam’s new found love of secret societies, Cas’s failure to show up, and life in general, Dean settled into back into the rhythm of work easily enough, and the drive out to Wilkes-Barre Pennsylvania was actually a reasonably enjoyable one. 

He dropped Sam off at the library to investigate that angle, because, apparently Sam hadn’t spent enough time in the library already, swept the campus without really expecting to find anything, and headed to the actual scene of the crime, the campus bar.

Dean asked around for eye-witnesses and was quickly directed to the co-captains of the woman’s volleyball team, which he figured, was a nice bonus, until he actually met them.  Both girls were very pretty, very eager to please, and not very observant.  While he sat there, nodding and smiling and taking down the surprisingly small number of useful details embedded in what they were saying, he tried to distract himself with who he was talking to, but his brain kept redirecting him from the fact he was talking to a pair of _volleyball co-captains_ to the fact that they were ignorant, vulnerable, children who’d been standing about five feet away from something that could probably have killed them. 

That and there was a guy following him.  Dean wasn’t completely sure that the slim, dark-haired man he kept seeing as he had checked the campus, was actually the same guy until he slid into a booth with a fruity drink and caught Dean’s eye with a little wave.  Dean took down a last note about Nazi necromancers and excused himself.

“Special Agent Bolan,” he said, slapping his fabricated badge onto the table in front of his tail.

“Oh wow,” said the stranger, “I thought you were like, a head hunter, or something.” And smiled.

Dean put on a suitably unimpressed frown and said “this is the second, maybe third time I’m seeing you today, you following me gingerbread?”

The stranger smiled just a little peered up through his eyelashes.  “Oh, so we didn’t have, you know, a moment back there in the quad?"

Which was when Dean realized that he was being hit on.  “We who what now?” he sputtered.

“Oh, sorry dude, I saw you back in the quad, thought we had a little moment, so I thought I’d see if I could catch you in here, you know.”  The stranger explained, while Dean fumbled with his badge.

“Ok,” said Dean, “no, just a – it a – a federal investigation, so, no,”

 “Is that supposed to make you less interesting?” the stranger smirked, before waving it off, “Nah, sorry.  Hope I didn’t freak you out.”

“No,” Dean mumbled, “no, its all good, just uh, you have a good day, um, citizen.  Excuse me,” added as his phone rang, and he promptly stepped backwards into a pillar, shuffled out of the bar and babbled to Sam about his ‘gay thing’ as he headed back to the Impala before he managed to get himself under control.

 

Despite a sense of betrayal that extended beyond what was entirely sensible over his apparently not-so-gay tail.  Aaron turned out to be an okay guy, and his golem was, if nothing else, a handy guy (thing?) to have around when you had Nazi necromancers to kill.  And since they had the golem and the ledger, and Eckhart was buried in back yard, Dean decided not to think too hard about the necromancer who had escaped.  

“So, uh, you, you know, good here?”  Dean asked Aaron as he and Sam were getting ready to leave, “with, you know, cleaning up?”  He was honestly not sure why he was asking since he didn’t actually have any interest in helping Aaron deal with his now somewhat trashed rental house.  But he had a more than characteristic desire to make conversation, and that was the first thing that came to mind.

Aaron started upright and then grinned at him.  “I think I’m okay, I mean, I have this guy,” he nodded towards the golem, “and there’s gotta be a few perks to it.  If I’m gonna be the master of a Golem, he’s got to at least be able to help with household chores right?” 

Dean cracked up.

 

“So, you think he’s going to be able to pull it off?  Being a JI?” he asked Sam as they headed back to the bunker. 

Sam looked out the window and shrugged.  “I dunno.  I think he’s got a handle on that golem at least, although, to be honest I’d still be happier if we knew how to take that thing down if we had to.”  He turned back to Dean and smirked.  “Why are you so interested all of a sudden?  I thought we didn’t need to make any more friends?” 

“Eh,” Dean grunted, “Aaron was alright,  I guess.  I mean, we have Crowley to deal with, and the tablet crap, and those stupid Feds and their stupid Warehouse are probably going to dump God knows what on us.”

“Oh admit it, you liked having backup,” said Sam.

Dean scowled.  “It was not awful.  This doesn’t mean I’m onboard with your whole  Secret Society social network plan.”

“Sure,” Sam nodded, with the specific bitch-faced smile that meant _I think you are a lying liar._

 

They pulled into the bunker, and Sam headed straight to the library.  Dean took his time unpacking and showering when they got back to the bunker, and then meandered down to the library, but when he got there he still had to walk past Sam, who was sitting at one of the tables, surrounded by index cards. 

“What are you still doing?” He asked.

“Oh, I was making a catalogue entry for our copy of the Red ledger.”  Sam explained, “and these are a mess.  We should really think about digitizing this.  There are definitely computers here.  We could call Charlie, get her to take a look?”

“Whoa, slow down cowboy,” said Dean, holding up his hands.  “So this is how it’s gonna be, Aaron’s a JI, you’re a Man of Letters?”

Sam hunched his shoulders, and crossed his arms, “yeah, I guess.  And what are you doing down here anyway?”

“Not a criticism dude,” said Dean, “as a matter of fact, I was gonna go look up Golems, see if the Men of Letters have a copy of those driving instructions Aaron mentioned.  Maybe see if there’s anything else on, I dunno, Jewish magic.”

Sam’s defensive hunch melted in a heartbeat and he smiled so hard Dean wasn’t sure whether it cheered him up or made him want to punch Sam in the mouth, “try looking up Kabbalah.” He advised.

“Whatever,” Dean muttered as he headed into the shelves. 

He really had come down to look up golem care tips, or golem destruction tips as the case may be.  He kept trying to tell himself that it was just a practical thing to know, and in no way motivated by a desire to visit Aaron again.  He wasn’t finding himself especially convincing.  Which was silly because he didn’t even have any reason to see Aaron again, except maybe to put him in touch with Garth.  And he wasn’t disappointed that he couldn’t think of something he couldn’t tell Aaron over the phone, because he wasn’t getting distracted from skimming book titles thinking about Aaron’s wide dark eyes.  Just like he wasn’t disappointed that Aaron hadn’t been flirting with him.  And he definitely also wasn’t disappointed that Cas hadn’t answered even though he had prayed and prayed.

“Get it together Winchester.” He muttered, running a hand over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is over 10,000 words now! Which is not a huge accomplishment in the grand scheme of things, but does make it the longest bit of fiction I've ever written, so I'm proud of me. It also has a plot now! This chapter was bit more delayed than it would have been because I took a break in the middle to plot out the rest of the story.


End file.
